


How to Live

by talentedSpoon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, EVERYBODY GETS A FEEL, IF YOU COULD CHANGE YOUR FATE, M/M, Sadstuck, Sadstuck but I SWEAR THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING, WOULD YE, and you get a feel, implied suicide, slight AU, still in the same universe but some life events are different, the human condition of life, you get a feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talentedSpoon/pseuds/talentedSpoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some, it's almost as if being born in a box of darkness -- one with no holes or windows to the outside world -- and one day, you figure out how to open it, even if just the slightest bit. You learn how to open it, and you see light for the first time.</p>
<p>For others, it's like suddenly and without warning, some heavy weight that you'd had on your head is now gone. It's scary, but exhilarating.</p>
<p>And for many, it's like going from a world of dull color to a vivid new life. One where the grass is actually greener, the sky is actually bluer, and the only thing you truly want in that moment is to skip; that's how happy you are to finally feel happiness.</p>
<p>My name is John Egbert, and this is the story of how I learned to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Live

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this one's a doozy, buckle up.
> 
> This story is like a child to me in a lot of ways; it's been months in the making, with a majority of it being written during the tail end of my recovery from life-long depression (although I don't think I'll ever be fully recovered, I was coming out of a very dark time in my life). I realized when I started writing this that I had missed my passion of creating literature, I had missed my OTP, and I had a hell of a lot to say about the journey I had been on. All of that culminated into the creation of this, and I tried the best that I could to show the raw emotions and reality of what depression can be. But, more importantly, I wanted to show a parallel with hope, and the potential we all have for recovery, no matter what has happened.
> 
> That being said, this is super feelsy, but has a happy ending. To anyone who has fought or is fighting depression, I hope that this piece conveys what I want it to.
> 
> NOTE: At one or two points, I have directly taken some text from the comic itself (one paragraph, and a pesterlog). This is to fit this story more into the original timeline. I do NOT claim ownership of these parts.

_It's silent, and it feels so eerily wrong. The dank corridor of the old ship offers no respite as Dave walks forward, hesitant, his gut twisting with apprehension and sickening worry. The door at the end of the hall seems so foreboding, yet it's a destination he has to reach._

_Five days, thirteen hours and forty-two minutes John has been in his room. He hadn't spoken to anyone for five days, thirteen hours and thirty-nine minutes of that time, but just a couple of minutes ago he sent Dave a message on Pesterchum. It was out of the blue, and it scared him._

_It really, really scared him._

i've finally found the solution to all of this. i'm sorry. goodbye... i'll miss you.

_Sweat creeps down his neck as he approaches the doorknob, but he first takes an apprehensive knock._

_There's no reply._

_With abrupt anxiety Dave throws the door open, and the pit of apprehensive emotion that had been forming in his chest bursts into a gut-wrenching pain, permeating his entire being and releasing itself in an aching voice. "John... JOHN!" the yell echoes down the halls._

_It falls on deaf ears._

–

 

My name is John Egbert, and today is my first day of kindergarten.

 

Daddy has been spending more time with me lately – which is great! – but I'm sorta not used to the attention. Usually he'd be at work, and I'd spend all day with mommy while she cleaned and did other stuff around the house. I asked her once why she didn't leave during the day like daddy did, and she just said she would miss me too much.

 

But the last few days both mommy and daddy have been at home, and they've been taking me to lots of cool places and getting lots of cool stuff, like crayons and pencils with dinosaur-shaped erasers and a sparkly blue notebook. When I got home and went to color in the notebook though, mommy said to save it for school, and that the nice people at kindergarten would tell me what to do with it.

 

It made me sad that I couldn't draw in it, because I really liked drawing, but I was really happy when daddy helped me put all of my new stuff into the bright green Ghostbusters backpack I got last week. I was even happier when we got in the car to go to big kid kindergarten. Daddy said that starting school meant I was a big kid now. A "growing young man at the bright age of five and a half." I smiled when he said the half part, because he _always_ would try to say I was _just_ five. But I'm a big five-and-a-half year-old now; the half is important! It means I've learnt more than the five-year-olds, even though the five-year-olds are cool, too. There are a lot of them that live near us, and we play on the playground sometimes when mommy takes me there.

 

Mommy said that some of them would be in kindergarten with me too, which is really cool.

 

That's all past stuff, though! Because right _now_ we've just gotten to the kindergarten place, and it's so _big_! I really hope I don't get lost. There are lots of kids outside with their parents, and I remember some of their faces, which is good. People don't like it when you don't remember them.

 

I want to go and run around inside the building and look at stuff, but mommy and daddy each take one of my hands and we walk in together instead, going to a room at the end of a hall with stickers and pictures all over the door. At least _they_ don't seem to be lost! As we walk inside the room, everything is suddenly loud and colorful, and there are a lot of other kids laughing and talking and drawing. Mommy and daddy take me to the only adult in the room, and they talk for a little bit. About adult stuff. Probably.

 

I wasn't really listening, it sounded boring.

 

Eventually I get tired of just waiting for them to stop talking, and daddy says I should go play with the other kids, so I run over to join the ones who are drawing at a table. I'm totally going to draw the best robot ever, and I tell them all so. Two of the other boys seem excited to see it when I'm done. I try to talk as little as possible, though. I hope my teeth will grow back soon – my front two teeth fell out last month, and I don't like how I talk now. It's whistle-y and stuff, and I want to talk nice to the new kids.

 

After I finish my awesome robot, I miss playing with mommy. I look over to where she and daddy are – mommy looks like she's about to cry, and daddy is rubbing her back. That's not right. Mommy shouldn't be sad! I can make her better – I do it a lot when we play doctor and stuff – so I walk over and tug at mommy's skirt and ask her what's wrong. She says that she is actually really happy because I'm a big kid now, but that she's sad she won't be able to see me as much during the day. I ask her if she can stay here at kindergarten with me, but she says there are no adults allowed in kindergarten, and that they need to go now.

 

That makes me sad, but mommy said I'd have a lot of fun here, so I nod and hug her and daddy, then wave with the teacher lady as they leave.

 

The day goes by really fast, and mommy was right because it was really fun. My favorite part was gym, because we did the hokey pokey game that daddy taught me. Some of the kids didn't know it, probably because they were only five and not five-and-a-half, so I helped them dance right. One kid was really happy I helped her, and I think we're friends now. Her name is Jenny.

 

Now it's outside time though, and Ms. Greenburg – that's the teacher lady – said it's called recess. Basically it looks like we get half an hour to run on the playground, and it's a really cool looking playground!

 

But even though we have the entire playground to run around on, we just ate lunch, so I'm tired and don't feel like playing right now. Instead I sit under a tree a little ways from the play stuff, kinda next to the field place where we were for gym. I like watching people when I don't want to play, which Jenny said was weird, but I think it's interesting. People do lots of different things and you can learn what they like to do when you watch them! It makes it easier to be friends when you know what they like to do, and mommy made me promise to make lots of friends in kindergarten.

 

The other kids playing on the jungle gym seem to have already made a bunch of friends, and I'm watching a couple of them play when suddenly a strange man appears, blocking my view. He just kinda fades in out of nowhere, like the guys on the Sci-Fi channel! He looks really confused too, and I laugh because he looks so strange. He turns around really fast when he hears me and looks surprised for a second, but then he smiles and walks over to me.

 

He's wearing a lot of red, which is weird. When I tried to wear all green clothes one day, Mommy said people don't wear all one color because it looks funny, but it kinda makes him look like a super hero. He kneels down in front of me and looks kinda sad, but also kinda happy to see me, which is awesome! A super hero wants to see _me_!

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hi mister. Are you a super hero?”

 

He laughs and ruffles my hair. “Sort of.”

 

“That's so cool! What's your super power? Do you fight crime? Do you have a sidekick? Can _I_ be your sidekick? Do you have a secret hideout? Do-”

 

“Woah woah John, calm down. One at a time."”

 

“You know my _name_? How did you know that?!” my mouth drops open and he does this weird smile where only half of his mouth goes up, like people do on TV sometimes. It makes him look cool. That's what the cool people did. I think daddy called it a smirk.

 

He nods and sits down in front of me, sitting crisscross apple sauce like Ms. Greenburg showed us to do for the assembly today. “I do. I know it because you're really special.”

 

“Thank you!” I smile really big. Mommy and daddy told me that a lot, but never anyone else! And he's a _super hero_! “So what super pow-”

 

In the middle of me asking my really important question, a bell rings and all the kids start walking back inside the building. I stand up quickly. “Oh no, I'm gonna be late!”

 

“Don't worry, you'll be fine.” The man stands up, too. “Go on, go have fun back in class.”

 

I frown a little. Mommy said no adults were allowed in kindergarten! “Are you gonna be lonely out here, mister?”

 

“Nah, I'll be fine.” He kneels back down again, and hugs me really tightly, which is kinda weird for a stranger to do; usually when I meet new people they don't really want to hug. But it feels nice to hug new people, and I hug back tightly too. “See ya, little dude. Keep this a secret, okay?”

 

I open my mouth to protest – I don't want him to leave, and I am _not_ little! – but he fades away, and I'm just left there with my mouth open, both really excited and really surprised.

 

I like super heroes. Especially the funny man in red. Mr. Red Man. He's nice.

 

–

 

I don't like my teeth.

 

I was really excited when they started growing back like mommy said they would, but they didn't stop growing, and now they're bigger than all my other teeth. The other kids all noticed and started making fun of them, and it made me really sad. Friends don't make fun of each other.

 

Today the biggest kid in class, Marcus, pushed me over when we were on the playground, and he said that now I have big beaver teeth to match my big ugly glasses. I had always liked my glasses – I had picked them myself! – but I knew he was being mean, and he scrapped my knees when he pushed me over, so I took off my glasses and ran back into the building alone to get away. My eyes started to burn and I didn't want anyone to see me cry because that's what babies do, so I went into the bathroom and curled up in the corner. I don't like school anymore.

 

I'm only in the boy's room for about a minute before someone walks in and kneels down in front of me. I'm crying now and don't want them to see so I don't look up, but they put their hand on my shoulder and I remember their voice.

 

“Hey, what happened?”

 

I look up to see Mr. Red again, and he looks sad too. I tell him what the other kids said to me and he frowns more, and grabs something out of his pocket. It looks like a little yellow and white tube, and a couple of Hello Kitty band-aids. He gets up and grabs some paper towels and runs them under the water, then sits down next to me again.

 

“This will hurt a little bit, but we need to clean those cuts on your knees, 'ight?”

 

I sniffle and nod. Daddy did stuff like that when I would fall at home, too. It hurts, but he starts to clean the scraps while he talks. “Listen, kids can be mean. This is a time where everyone is trying to figure out who they are, and stand out. Some kids do that by putting other people down, because they don't have anything to define themselves by yet.” I open my mouth to argue, but he puts a finger in front of it to tell me to be quiet. “A lot of kids are part of a pack, they're new to school and lost. When some kid starts making others look like they're not as cool as him, other kids will think that means he's the leader, and they follow him. When they get older and learn better, they'll realize he's a jerk.”

 

I look down and think. I ask Mr. Red what I'm supposed to do until I get older, if they don't see that they're being jerks right now, and he pats my shoulder – having just finished bandaging my knees. “Well, have you heard the phrase 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me'?”

 

I nod, and he continues. “It's a lie. Words hurt; and they can hurt a lot. That's why you're here crying and not outside playing. But I have a secret for you, and you can't tell anyone, alright? Especially not the bullies. It's special adult knowledge.”

 

“Tell me!”

 

“What you need to do is not say anything to them. Don't react to what they say, and if you can, don't even look at them. Kids who pick on other people get bored when their victim doesn't do anything; they live for the reaction. Without it, they'll stop.”

 

“Are you sure? What if he pushes me down?” I probably look a bit doubtful, because I really am. I guess people do get bored, but Marcus is really mean and I don't want him to hurt me again.

 

“If you're really worried about him hurting you, hang around your friends or somewhere where the adults are watching. You could also try telling the adults, if you think that would help. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. But if you need help, just call me.”

 

I think about the adults here. They’re nice, but I don’t think they would know how to help. Plus, I think it would only make the other kids pick on me more. “But how would I call you? You just appear out of nowhere, and I'm sure you have super hero stuff to do instead!”

 

He smiles slightly, and tilts my chin up to look at him in the eyes. He's wearing sunglasses, but I can kinda see the outline of eyes behind them. “Just wish really hard and I'll be there. You're really important to me, John. Super hero duties can wait.” He pauses, and wipes away where tears had been on my cheeks. Then it looks like he does the same to himself, which is really weird. No one was picking on him?

 

“And for the record, I really like your teeth and your glasses. They're part of what makes you who you are.”

 

–

 

_He rushes forward, shouting the boy’s name, but is continually met with strangling, strict silence._

_There is no pulse, and the air catches in Dave's throat as he tries to comprehend the scene in front of him._

_Blood is soaked down the front of the boy before him, seeping from a large, thick slash to the throat. A knife sits on the floor, fallen from the hand that held it and splashed with red. His left hand is over his heart, and his other hand is draped over the side of the chair, above the crimson-streaked metal._

_His eyes are closed._

_After a stunned moment of silence, one man screams for the first time in his life._

 

–

 

Mr. Red was right. Marcus tried to pick on me for the next few days, and it hurt, but I told myself that he was just being a jerk and didn't know better yet. I didn't react, just like Mr. Red told me to. I felt smart knowing secret adult stuff, and realizing that Marcus didn't even realize he was being a dummy yet. Mr. Red said my glasses and teeth were nice, and I liked him better, so I decided to listen to him instead of Marcus.

 

And after a few days, Marcus just stopped trying to talk to me. He left me alone and I felt happy again. I had even made some friends, Jenny and Samantha and Gary. We had fun together on the playground at recess, and we sat next to each other in class. Sometimes Ms. Greenburg taught us about art, and I would almost always draw Mr. Red. My favorite thing was his cape, and mommy had even gotten me one for Christmas because I drew them so much – it's a bright blue one that looks like the sky. I was really happy, because I really liked the sky.

 

It's been awhile since I've seen Mr. Red, which makes me a little sad, but my friends have been really nice, so I let him do his hero stuff instead.

 

–

 

It's early first grade when I need him again.

 

A kid in my class invites everyone over for his birthday party, except for me.

 

Everyone talks about it at school that day, and I just want to go home and not listen to them anymore. I call mommy and tell her I'm sick, like I had seen Gary do once when he didn't want to be at school. He said it's like a secret password to go home.

 

Mommy picks me up quickly and takes me home, but I won't tell her what's actually wrong, because she would probably take me back to school. Plus, you're not supposed to give away secret passwords, or else they won't be secret anymore.

 

When I get home I go straight to my room, and mommy offers to make soup, but I tell her no. Once she leaves, I close my door, flop down onto my bed, and try not to cry. Marcus had stopped bullying me, but the boy whose birthday is today is popular, and apparently thought everyone was cool except me. He never said anything to my face, but I think him and the other kids would whisper. That's probably why he didn't invite me.

 

After a minute or so, I remember Mr. Red. I haven't seen him in a really long time, and so I wish really hard for him to appear.

 

And after a minute or so, he does.

 

I stand up and hug him, and he hugs me back tightly – like he had the first day we met – asking me what had happened. We talk for a long time and I tell him about the kids at school, both my friends and the mean kids. He accidentally says a word that he says that I'm not allowed to repeat, and talks to me about how not everyone will like everyone.

 

“You can't please everyone, no matter how hard you try. It takes adults a long time to learn that, but once they do, they're much happier. You just need to appreciate the people who _do_ like you, instead of feeling bad about the ones who don't.”

 

Adult knowledge seems fake sometimes, but he was right the first time, so I trust him this time, too.

 

The rest of the night we play video games on my Nintendo 64, and I forget all about the party.

 

–

 

Today is November 29th, 2003, and I'm really worried about mommy. We were in the kitchen after school making a cake, and she went to walk toward the fridge, but her leg did this weird twitching thing and she just fell over. I started to cry and asked her what was wrong, and she said she just tripped. I wanted to believe her, but I had never seen someone's leg do that before they tripped.

 

People's legs weren't supposed to trip them, people were supposed to trip on things on the ground.

 

–

 

Mommy always took me to school, but daddy took me to my first day of fourth grade today, because mommy couldn't drive anymore. Daddy said that she forgets where she's going, and that I would be late if mommy took me. I told him that was weird, and daddy said they knew that, and that he was going to take mommy to the doctor today.

 

That made me feel better, because doctors are smart and can make mommy better again.

 

My first day is over now though, and daddy isn't on time like he always is. I talk to the teachers by the buses, and they wait with me until daddy comes about ten minutes later. He says he's sorry, but doesn't say anything else, which is weird because daddy always wants to know how my day went. I ask him how his day went instead, but he says that he was just with mommy at the doctor's all day.

 

We get home and mommy is on the couch, but when she sees us she runs over to me and hugs me really tight. It's a lot tighter than normal and she's sad and I don't really like it, but I hug back. I don't know why she's upset, but I don't think I should ask.

 

When she pulls away, I tell her that I missed her, and that today was great, and Jenny, Sam, Gary and I played Cops and Robbers. I notice that her face is wet and I frown, but she says she'll tell me why soon.

 

I go upstairs after that, and I work on my homework while I listen to daddy and mommy talk downstairs. I don't think they know I can hear. Mommy is crying, so it makes me really sad too, and I remember Mr. Red.

 

He appears in front of me before I realize I even had been thinking about him.

 

I don't want a hug, though. I just want him to stay with me while I do my homework, so things are quiet.

 

When I'm almost done, I set my pencil down and look up at him.

 

“Mister.. what's a can-sore?”

 

–

 

My birthday is next week, and I'm turning ten.

 

Mommy started losing her hair; it's all gone now, and she wears a wig instead.

 

She's different.

 

She keeps thinking that it's April 13th when it's not, so she makes a cake every day because she thinks it's my birthday.

 

There are a lot of them, and whenever she sees one from the day before, she gets really sad because she doesn't remember making it, and it makes her realize things are wrong.

 

We've been giving them to the neighbors so she won't see them.

 

I don't like cake anymore.

 

–

 

Yesterday was the last day I talked to mom. It was sunny outside, and I hated it. I was angry at the sun, because it was like nature was lying. Like the rest of the world didn’t care about me or my life or mom, and kept on going as if nothing was any different. I just wanted to scream, I felt so insignificant.

 

Mom wasn't able to talk anymore, but I talked to her like I always used to. I told her about my day, and about how my friends were doing, and what it was like outside.

 

I don't know if she understood any of it anymore. She hadn't worn her wig in weeks, and she had been in the hospital just as long. I think it was more comforting for me to say it than it was for her to hear it. The nurses seemed to know this, so they never told me directly that she wasn't herself anymore, and that I didn't need to talk to her like I did.

 

Yesterday it was sunny, but today it's raining.

 

It's pouring outside, but I feel like that's how it should be.

 

Dad's on the phone with the funeral director.

 

I'm in my room sobbing while Mr. Red holds me, rubbing my back.

 

He doesn't say anything, and I don't want him to. I want it to be quiet, because nothing anyone could say could fix this, but I'm also really glad he's here. I need someone here and I don't want to cry in front of dad. I did that once after we came home from visiting mom, and he started crying, too.

 

I had never seen him cry before.

 

–

 

_Dave stumbles forward into his friend, wrapping his arms around him as tight as he can while tear streaks start to pour down his face, at first shocked and slow, but then never ending. The red of the blood against his already red clothes makes it almost look like water dampening his shirt. Almost like nothing is wrong, except for some wet clothes._

_But so, so many things are wrong._

_The face in front of him, usually so full of energy and spirit, now hung lifelessly by his shoulders. It was never going to rise again._

_Fingers clutch at the damp blue shirt, covered in blood and tears. Knuckles turn white and eyes burn red._

_A small note sits on the desk beside them._

–

 

It's been a year now.

 

Sometimes I cry during school, and the other kids will either avoid me or pick on me for it. Mr. Red started to step in, pretending he's my older brother. It scares the bullies off, and they bother me less about the crying now. I'm really glad he's been here for me, because I don't know how I would be right now if he hadn't been in my life. Even if he hadn’t talked with me like he did, he was always someone that I could vent to.

 

I’ve been trying to do things that will take my mind off of mom, and I've gotten really into magic tricks. Mr. Red is my audience most of the time, and sometimes he has tricks of his own. He makes things disappear, and he'll move across the room so fast that I can't even see him.

 

I've learned that he can control time.

 

At first when he told me, I begged him to go back and do something about my mom, but he explained to me that changing that part of my life would create splinters in time, and alternate universes that would have to be dealt with. I told him it didn't make sense that he could still change things about my life like he did occasionally – like stopping the bullies – but he said explaining that part would be complicated. That he'd tell me when I'm older.

 

I accept his answer, because he has done a lot for me. He's been my friend when it seemed like no one else was.

 

One day he said that he needed me to meet someone, though. Someone who is my age and that I could be friends with.

 

“Her name is Jade. Today is the day that she'll message you for the first time. She's a bit quirky, but she's really sweet and a great friend. Her message will seem out of the blue, but just let the conversation happen. She'll be important to you one day.”

 

–

 

I feel so lucky to have met the people that I have. They've helped me forget about what's bad and remember the good.

 

It's been a few months since Jade introduced me to Dave and Rose, and we've kinda become a joint group of besties. Whenever we're not at school, there's at least two of us online most of the time. We've been getting really close, and I may have stayed up past bedtime more than once just to talk to them. My friends at school are great, but it just feels like I can relate with my friends on the internet more. They really understand me.

 

After a particularly long conversation with Jade, that had ended in a long thank-you for bringing everyone into my life, I sign off and lay back on my bed. I smile as Mr. Red appears, just as he always does when I think of him. I sit up and hug him, thanking him like I had thanked Jade, but even more so. He was always there when I wasn't feeling well, and stepped in to make my life just a little easier whenever he could. I would be dumb not to realize that he's the reason I've been as happy as I have.

 

I tell him something that's been bothering me for a long time, though: I don't know his name. He knows mine, but he had never told me his.

 

He smiled, and ruffled my hair. Just like he always does. “You already know my name. You just don't know it's me, yet.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

His smile sinks a little, and a bit of sadness flashes across his face before he can hide it. “You'll find out really soon, I promise.”

 

I'm confused and really curious what he means, but my internet friends have made me so happy that life feels good again. Once he leaves, it's years before I see him again.

 

–

 

All I can think of as I'm thrown against the wall of the bathroom is that it's been a really bad week.

 

I've been thinking of mom and how dad's changed and how there have been so many bullies, so I was already sad as it was, but health class today made it worse. The teacher had been talking about the differences between boys and girls, and I had turned to make a joke to the guy next to me about the girl stuff being gross.

 

He didn't think it was a joke.

 

I feel the blood run down my face from where Marcus had punched me in the nose, and I grip it as I try to stand, but I'm pushed back down again and held down by someone's foot. I don't even try to tell who's saying what anymore – all the words are blending together.

 

“Fairy”

 

“Faggot”

 

“Homo”

 

I only recognized one of the words, and fairies don't exist, so I have no idea why the heck they're saying what they are or what it means. All I know is that they've gotten a few good hits in and I don't think they're done. Tears pour down my cheeks from the pain and confusion – it had just been a joke.

 

What had even happened?

 

My name is John Egbert, I'm twelve years old, and for the first time in a long time I feel horrible.

 

–

 

I've barely left the house in the last week. It's been a few months since I was beat up in the bathroom, but every day since has been hardly any better. I used to be told that getting out of elementary school was when life really started, when you would make more friends and go to parties and have hang outs and everything, but it was all a lie. My first year in middle school has been the worst in my life, and I think that's really saying something.

 

Like when mom had first died, I’m starting to feel numb again.

 

The little things I hardly notice anymore. Being shoved to the side in the halls, my books being pushed out of my hands, whispers in class. No, that's standard now. What I really hate are the days that I can't try to ignore it all. When the whispers get louder and they want me to hear them, and the shoves get more violent and the hands that knock my books away turn into fists. And when I think that it just can't possibly get any worse, something will surprise me, like it did today. Like when the seating chart is rearranged, and I end up sitting next to Marcus.

 

To my surprise, he's silent the whole class. But as we leave, I hear the only thing he's said to me all day:

 

“Go kill yourself, you waste of space.”

 

The words hit me pretty hard, like a sharp wave had been thrown at my chest. I had been told some pretty horrible things, but never outright that I should just die. I stop walking for a moment, and he smirks as he leaves.

 

When the classroom is empty, I slowly leave in the opposite direction.

 

The next thing I know I'm at home after school with dad still at work, and I'm curled up on my bed crying. It's a familiar feeling by now. Wanting dad here, wanting mom back, wanting my friends to actually live nearby so they're not just words on a screen, and just wanting it all to end.

 

It's probably the internet that drove me to grab the razor.

 

After all, I had been looking up some dark stuff lately, so it was inevitable that I'd run across the cutting community at some point. Although a lot of the people on the forums seemed a bit older, and I always felt so lonely reading their posts – why did I never have the innocent childhood that so many other people got? Why did sadness come at such a young age for me? I remembered how many people talked about the release and feeling that a razor could bring, and for some it was the only feeling they could feel anymore; the wound was a verification that everything was indeed messed up, beyond the physical bruises everyone else had given you. A rush of feeling like nothing else could bring. It sounded like the perfect drug.

 

I lock the bathroom door and slide down against its cold painted wood, icy metal in my hand.

 

But as I go to press it to my wrist, I find that I can't. And not for lack of trying, believe me.

 

My hand is held back by another's firm grip, and they move my thumb so that the blade drops to the floor. I don't need to look up to see who it is, and I'm mad at myself that he's here. As everything started to fog up in my head and visions of red release filled my mind, I thought of his damn red cloak. His comfort.

 

And he appeared, just as he always did.

 

I expected him to yell at me, to be angry that I hadn't tried to call him before, and in general just make me feel worse. But of course he didn't. He never made me feel worse. He kicked away the razor and knelt next to me, and pulled me into a silent, tight hug. And I cried. I cried like I hadn't in months, I cried the tears I had repressed because it only egged the bullies on, I cried the tears I never could in front of my dad and the tears that I would only ever let him see, and he cried too.

 

He said he wished he had known how my life had been before we met, and how he would have done so much different, but I didn't understand. We had met when I was five.

 

–

 

Life is hard, but he understands. After all the times I've seen him, I can at least gather that much. It's calming to know that he's always there for me; and boy, has he _always_ been there.

 

Sometimes him being there is irritating. Like right now, as he sits next to me on the bed, waiting for answers I don't want to give. Not to him. Not after how hard he's tried to help me.

 

Since we left the bathroom, it's been like this. A strong silence with the implication that words need to fill it. After a few more minutes of it, he gives in and heaves a shaky sigh. “John, I... What's happened since I last saw you? I know things have been hard, but I told you to call me. You can always call me, man. I'm here for you. There's some sh-...stuff I can't fix, but I'm seriously willing to do anything for the stuff that I can. This is an intervention. That is what this is. I’m here for you.”

 

And there it is. Guilt, and more pain. I knew he'd say something like that; I knew he would. He's always been there and has always helped, but even I don't know why I haven't tried to reach out to him in so long. It's gone downhill for months, but never did I try to bring him here to help me.

 

I can't even explain why. But he does.

 

Of course he does.

 

“Listen... never mind that. I... I actually do get it. I've been down this road, and it feels like you're being a burden to bring other people into it. And after a while, it almost feels like you're _meant_ to feel depressed, and you stop fighting it. It's more comfortable to feed it; to let it happen. But you need to know this,” he pauses, turning more toward me and pulling me into his lap for a close hug, his hand on my head, pushing it into the crook of his shoulder. I wrap a hand in his shirt and stay there, closing my eyes and just feeling the comfort he brings. “You're not a burden. You're not meant to feel this way. You're not _anything_ you don't want to be. But you _are_ my best friend, whether you know it yet or not, and we're in this together.”

 

I had never thought about depression before; it was a word I knew the meaning of, but had never even considered the possibility that it could be a word that described me. But once he had put the thought in my head, I knew that that was it. That was what I was feeling – depression. There was a word for it.

 

I mumble into the cloth of the cape draped over his shoulders. “Together for the long haul?”

 

“For the long haul.”

 

It's quiet again after that. I haven't said much, but he's said everything he needs to. I should probably even the playing field. But… “..I don't know where to start.”

 

“Then let's make a list. A shit list. Make those awful, intangible things more tangible; and this will sound really corny, but it helps, trust me.” And I do. But I still feel weird about it as he asks me to get a pen and some paper – actually writing it down seems dumb and I almost don't want to, but I do. I write down that I still miss my mom, that I miss the way dad and I used to spend more time together, that I'm tired of the bullies and tired of feeling sad.

 

When I'm done, he turns the paper slightly so he can see too, and points at the first one. “I miss my parents, too.”

 

My face heats up, and I don't know if it's from shock or embarrassment. I'd never asked him about his life before. I didn't know.

 

“-But I started to feel content in appreciating that I still had my brother to look after me. I wasn't in an orphanage. Life still had some normalcy.” I gulp. Dad had still been here for me, but I had pushed him away, too. I bet he is just as sad as I am, if not worse. That kind of makes me awful to think about, but he pulls me out of the thought before I'm in it too long. He always knows what I'm thinking. Maybe I'm just easy to read – or maybe he just knows me that well. “-And even if other people are sad, your sadness is still valid. It's still there. Geez, don't let anyone ever try to tell you it's not. That's like saying some family in the worst part of the city that's in danger of losing their home doesn’t have it that bad, because they're not a starving kid in Africa. Just because someone might have it worse doesn't mean you don't have it bad, too. Alright? Part of starting to get better is accepting that you have the _right_ to what you feel. But also knowing that you have the right to start getting better. And that doesn't mean forgetting – it means coming to terms with it.”

 

I curl in on myself. Had I come to terms with it? It feels like I had; after all, I knew the facts. Mom's dead. The dead don't come back. But... there's also part of me that I think still wishes she could. Still _hopes_.

 

“You know, it might hurt, but think about day one. You were a mess, non-functioning. And it obviously still hurts you a lot, but it's dulled a bit, hasn't it? It's not so present. Time doesn't heal wounds completely, but it can heal them enough so that you'll one day have a scar that you're comfortable enough to tell the story behind.” I nod. It's... more removed, now? I don't want to ever forget her, and I doubt I ever will, but it has gotten better. The wound is less of a gash, and more of a scab that somethings pick open every once in a while.

 

I tell him that, and he smiles sadly. “I always thought of it as a basket that I had to carry around on my back, and that one day someone poured a bunch of gravel in it. I was upset, mad, didn't understand. Why the hell did this have to happen? I didn't need more weight in that basket. I already had plenty in there, and there definitely wasn't room for _that_. But as I kept carrying that basket, every so often one of the rocks would tumble out. Or I'd have a good time or rant about it, and my friends would help me take a couple more rocks out. After a while... the load is still there – you ain't ever gonna get all those tiny sand-like rocks out of the little nooks and crannies of that basket – but it's lighter. It gets easier to carry. It may not be all that much lighter than day one yet, but that's what time is for.”

 

By the time he had finished talking, I had already found myself in his lap again, with my face back in the crook of his shoulder and a few more tears running down onto the soft red fabric. He didn't seem to mind. He just carries on. “Now, your dad... you have an advantage, really. You two used to be really close. That means the bond's still there; like, it's sort of like a line on a piece of paper that you kept drawing on until it got really dark. And even though life's tried to erase that sucker, it can't get rid of it completely. It's embedded in that paper. Faint, but still there.”

 

I kinda stop listening half-way through his metaphor – he uses a lot of those – because I start remembering when I was little. When we'd spend the afternoon with just the two of us – in the backyard and at the park, the roller rink down town and at the aquarium. The nostalgia hits me in a wave and I almost feel another rush of tears, but at the same time a tinge of determination keeps them back. “..where would I even start to fix it?”

 

“I can't help you with that. He's your dad, not mine. Start to do what you used to do with him.”

 

.

 

_== > It's late in the afternoon before you hear the front door open – just about 6:30, pretty much the usual time that he gets home. Even though it's been years since you two have had a proper conversation, it's only today that you will give it a chance again._

_== > John: Remember the list_

_I do remember the list. That conversation we had lasted through the night, and I think I vaguely remember falling asleep curled against him, or something equally as embarrassing in hindsight. Since then I've thought about what he's said a lot – he's not a lot older than I am now, but by how he speaks I know he's been through so much more than he could ever say. Maybe that's what always drew me into the conversation every time he popped up. Maybe it was because the timing was always when I was down. Maybe it was a combination of both, maybe it was neither. Either way, I know that I've learned to trust what he says. He's a time traveler, after all – that alone should give him more insight than I'll ever have. But it's more than that, too. He feels... strangely familiar, but in a way I can't quite put my finger on? It's slightly frustrating, but also very, very comforting. Everyone needs a time-traveling friend. 10/10, totally recommend._

_Ugh, I'm getting off-topic, though. He always makes me go off-topic, even when he’s not here. Right now, though, I'm determined. I need to do this. The first step is always the hardest, right?_

_I pry myself off of my bed and walk to the door, hesitantly opening it and listening for a moment. As usual, it sounds like dad's gone straight to the kitchen to fix up dinner for tonight. A task he does alone and in silence, and is always followed by a silent dinner that might as well be alone._

_My mind keeps telling me to go back to my room, get on the computer and play Team Fortress with Dave or something, that's social – right? Anything would be better than an awkward encounter after years of ignoring, years of silence and isolation. Anything would be – oh, well, I guess I already ended up at the kitchen while I was thinking. Shit._

_He's facing away from me, searching through the fridge, and I rub the back of my neck, not knowing what to say or how to start. Breathe, Egbert. Baby steps._

_“Dad?”_

_He jumps, head hitting the inside of the refrigerator, “Shoot!”_

_“Oh geez, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spook you or anything-”_

_“No, no, you're perfectly fine, John. I just... you never come down until dinner is done. You surprised me, that’s all.”_

_Me speaking at all probably surprised him, too, but neither of us points that out._

_“I... Uh, what are you making?”_

_He just stands there for a moment, pausing from rubbing the spot on his head that was sure to have a bump tomorrow. He's probably surprised that I cared at all to ask. After a moment, he recovers enough to answer. “..Home-made macaroni and cheese with green beans and the bread I've been letting rise while I was out.”_

_“Cool. I.. ..could... could I help?”_

_There's a moment of silence again. The awkward. It's strangling._

_“Are... are you alright, John? Do you need something?”_

_“No, I, uh… I mean, I'm alright. I just... wanted to help you with dinner.”_

_“Are you sure that's all?”_

_“Yeah, dad. I just... I don't see you much anymore.”_

_It’s silent for far too long, but before I even realize it I'm pulled into a tight hug, and it's new, yet also old and kind of nostalgic. I didn't even realize I had been crying before he pulls away a bit and reaches to wipe away a few tears. “I'm so, so proud of you, son. I've missed you, too.”_

.

 

By now, I'm leaned up against the side of him as he sits cross-legged on the bed in front of the list. He's rubbing my lower back with his thumb, and it feels really nice.

 

“Alright, number three is a tough one. Not that the others aren't tough, either. But this one deals with a bunch of shi- stupid people.”

 

“It's alright, Red. You can say the word shit. I'm almost thirteen, I can handle a swear word.”

 

“Oh my god you have no idea how hard it's been all this time to censor myself.”

 

I don't even know which one of us starts laughing first, but we're both having a hard time trying to find our breath again after a good few minutes of cracking up over everything. I don't even know why it was so funny, but I guess he has a way of making everything that way.

 

“Alright. Alright. Cool.” I try to compose myself again, but he stops that train at the station.

 

“ _But,_ what's cooler than being cool, John?”

“ _Ice_ cold!”

 

“ _Alright alright alright alright-_ ”

 

Half way through the reference, we both crack up again as I shove his shoulder and call him a dork, and everything just feels right. It's like we've been friends forever, and it's always going to be that way. I'm struck again by a feeling of déjà vu, but I guess it's just from having had him around my whole life. Everything with him is déjà vu.

 

“Well, Egder- Egbert, I guess we should get back to the serious business.”

 

All I really hear is the word “serious” because I was still laughing, but at the mention of what we were previously trying to slug through, the smile fades.

 

“..How the hell am I supposed to fight back against guys older and tougher than me?”

 

He sighs. “I can’t give you quick fixes. That's not what any of this is. Guiding you is the best I can do, man. Part of you getting better is learning how to problem solve life, unfortunately. And this-” he gestures toward the bathroom, “-isn't doing that. It makes me worry that when I'm not here, everything is just going to go downhill again. Trust me, you don't want to live your whole life just following my instructions. That's not really living. Fighting your way through this is what's going to make you resilient to ever going this low again. I want to be a guide and a friend, not a dictator.”

 

“But... I don't even know where to start with this one.”

 

“Well, maybe fighting back isn't your answer?”

 

.

 

_There's a single gunshot, and I start running. Faster than I ever have before._

_I can hear the blood pumping in my ears as I surge forward, and a wave of adrenaline kicks in. Behind me, four other guys are bolting toward me, and I push myself even harder – I have to make it, I can't let them catch up, I have to go just a little faster. After all, I gotta be better, faster, harder, stronger_ –

_right? That's the only thing that will get me through this, and I know that. Unfortunately, since I was never too strong, I recently started aiming for the just “better, faster” part in particular._

_A whistle blows as I cross the finish line._

_My name is John Egbert, and I've just won the race for my track team. For the long-distance sprinting portion of the regionals competition, to be precise._

_I break my stride as I hear the whistle, and as I slow down and greet my smiling coach, applause and cheering breaks out in the stands. My smile is so big it hurts, but everything feels so perfect in this moment. My coach is happy because of me, my team is happy because of me, and my school is happy because of me._

_It makes me feel just a little bit more whole._

_About three months ago, when the bullying had picked up and I had almost cut myself up, the talk I had with Red left me feeling completely lost about how to deal with it all. Then, about a week later, I saw a flier for junior track team try-outs – something about finding fresh talent to bring straight onto the team once seventh grade starts the following year. And then it hit me:_

_If I can't fight the bullies... why not outrun them?_

_Of course, once I had become well-known on the team for being the best runner, the reputation at school as a good athlete helped a little, too. Plus, it gave me an excuse to start getting some energy out, and I think being part of a team has been good for me. Even if track teams aren't your traditional 'everyone is working together on one thing at once' sort of team._

_Back in the present, though, everything's becoming a mess as people are both hyped about the race and preparing for the next event, so I silently slip away. As I make my way out of the crowd and back past the bleachers, I find him there._

_“Man, you really give a whole new meaning to 'run like the wind.'”_

_“What's that even supposed to mean?”_

_“You'll understand in time. Eventually. But in my context that was a pretty sweet joke, so you should appreciate it anyway.”_

_“You're such a dork.”_

_._

 

I've calmed down a lot by now. Talking through things with Red so straight-forward like this... it's not like a load off my chest, but it feels like finally someone's starting to try and help me lift that load off, for once? Like it hasn't quite happened yet, but finally some part of me has the will to try and get that heavy mass off of me so I can breathe again. Somewhere in me I can acknowledge that the light at the end of the tunnel exists, even if I can't see it yet. But I still have no idea where that light might be, and the prospect of searching for it seems daunting.

 

“Hey, you got the hard parts done.” I can feel him smile slightly from the position that my face still rests in the crook of his shoulder. “We've targeted the causes... the last part, being sad so much, is your symptom. You shouldn't even look at that as a step on its own, really. More like something that's a given when you've finished working on the rest of them.”

 

“But I still don't know what to do... Talking helped, but I can't think of a way out of things.”

 

“Usually you can't at first. But making a list like this gives you direction, if nothing else. Do what feels right from there. I know you can do it. You're a strong person who's been dealt a shitty hand of cards, but you can be even stronger when you beat this. And please, I want you to find a therapist, too. Your dad will understand. Talking to me may help, but I’m not a professional. Even if the first one you meet you don’t like, keep trying; find someone. Maybe even think about medicine – some people’s bodies lack the stuff you need to be happy, and you need a little help. Science is cool and shit and can help with that.”

 

I nod, but still feel a little overwhelmed thinking about all of it. But it does seem more clean-cut now that it's been bullet-pointed, at least. And I guess I could try therapy or medicine. I’d be willing to try anything to make me feel the wonder in life that I had felt as a little kid. Pride isn’t worth this pain.

 

“Now...” Red picks up the paper, and I lift up my head from his shoulder when I feel it pressed into my hands. “These things are going to be gone, you're going to end all this pain they're causing you, so you should destroy this paper as your first step. Just put all your anger into it and go nuts.”

 

“...This is dumb, Red. You're dumb. Dummy.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Just do it, man. Those things are gonna be history, because you're gonna make that thing unrecognizable.”

 

I sit up and take the paper from him with an eyebrow raised, and look at him for a moment before I turn back to the paper. It couldn't hurt, I guess – it's a way to release some frustration over everything. Hesitantly, I make a slow tear through the center of it. As I do, I try to imagine destroying every thought that I've written... about the pain and guilt they've caused, and how I want so badly to be happy again, so this is me getting rid of them. After a short pause, I make another tear. Then I start shredding, relentlessly, anger slowly boiling as I rip the paper as small as physically possible.

 

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've run back to the bathroom and thrown the pieces in the sink, running the water and mashing the mess together. Tearing them more. Destroying it. Red comes to the door as I grab the amalgamation and head out again, this time to the backyard, where I throw the pulpy-paper mess onto the ground and smash it into the dirt with my foot violently. I mash it into the ground until I can’t even tell that it’s there anymore.

 

The words are gone, so now it's time to start working on the rest.

 

A bit of hope rises in my chest, and it's almost like I'm certain it's already happened. That some me far in the future is already happy.

 

–

 

I've been so excited for this for _forever_! Today is the day.

 

It's my thirteenth birthday, but it's also the day I should get that new Sburb game in the mail! It was supposed to come days ago, and it became sort of a sore topic with me when it didn't come on the tenth (or the eleventh, or twelfth), but I can just feel it – today it'll come!

 

The last couple of months I've been talking about it seemingly non-stop. I've been getting really close to my internet buddies and opening up more about my life, and slowly I've managed to shovel some gravel out of my basket. Jade, Rose and Dave are my best friends, and I want nothing more than to have them all play this game with me! Red doesn't seem very happy about the release, though. Every time I would mention the game, he would look kinda sad, or sometimes even tense up and seem a bit angry. I think it's because if I absorb myself in a game with my internet friends, he wouldn't have as much time with me. I tried to assure him that I'd always have time for him, and that we would be best bros together forever, but that only seemed to make him sadder.

 

Red is a confusing guy sometimes.

 

After a while, I'm sure he'll get over whatever it is that he doesn't like about the game. Maybe I could even get him to play it with all of the rest of us, too! He's seemed pretty hell-bent on not interacting with my friends at all, but I really hope he'll come around. He’d probably be awesome friends with Dave, since they’re so alike, but they've all been such important people in my life that it's hard to imagine any of them not getting along. Especially now that we’re almost about his age (although admittedly he’s probably still a couple years older). It’s strange how he never seemed to age, but I’d always chalked it up to time-traveling shenanigans.

 

I head over to my magic chest and captchalogue a few things; with the amount of cakes already infiltrating upstairs, I'm probably going to need some pranking antics to avoid an all-out cake war downstairs.

 

On the upside, dad seems to have left me an awesome movie poster (and another cake; I'm not sure if anything will ever break his horrible baking habit), which I quickly hang up on the wall to admire. Little Monsters will never get old! I was just re-watching it with him last week, so he must have remembered how much I liked it. It's glorious. Exactly what I wanted. The old man really came through this time.

 

I mess around in my room for a while and end up messaging Dave, and I'm so jealous that he has two copies of the new game. Why couldn't _I_ have gotten two copies?! He's not even excited about this game, so I guess it's Murphy's Law or something equally as shitty. Maybe he ended up with my copy somehow. I don't know why that would make sense, but at this point I just want an _explanation!_

 

With a lack of my new game and the over-abundance of cake, I'm even more irritated than ever that Red hasn't showed up today. When I was younger his appearances were pretty infrequent, but in the last two weeks he's been here practically every day. He's seemed more stressed than usual, so maybe he just needed someone to hang out with. No matter how much I ask, he won't tell me anything about his own life, so it's hard to know. Maybe telling me would be some time-line interfering bullshit, I don't know. What I do know is that I'm stone-cold bored, and ready to get my game. I look out my window for the hundredth time in the last few days, and blink a few times when I see the red flag thingie-mabob on the mail box up. The game. It could be within reach.

 

I guess it's time to brave the downstairs and hope dad doesn't catch me and smother me with more cake.

 

Feeling up to raising my prankster's gambit a little, I throw on a clever (awful, but hilarious) disguise of a beagle puss and wizard hat before I head down to check out the rest of the house.

 

Even if it wouldn’t fool anyone who knew me _at_ _all_ , it could serve as a buffer for any projectile pastries.

 

Don’t ask.

 

As I head down the stairs, the presence of a huge harlequin doll is more than a little disconcerting, but at least dad hasn't seen me yet. To keep it that way, I quietly sneak out the front door and go to check the mail, but it seems like he's gotten to it first. I sigh, knowing an encounter will be inevitable, and look up at the sky.

 

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

 

It is my thirteenth birthday, and contrary to almost all preceding it, something feels whole in my life again. I feel more in touch with myself and more connected to my friends than I ever have, and thanks to Red I've slowly started to recover – to feel like myself. Life's slowly getting meaning again, and it makes me feel so alive and ready to face the world ahead of me. And even then, I know I won't face it alone.

 

I jump as I feel a light tap on my shoulder, and I'm ready for an impending cake fight, but instead I'm met with the familiar _(handsome)_ face I've come to know and love. He has a small smile, and he's holding... is that the game?

 

He holds it out to me, smiling a little more, but some other emotion seems to be beneath it. “This should save you a lot of time and effort. You wouldn't believe the wild goose chase you would have had to go on to get this thing if I hadn't of pulled it out of the mailbox earlier.”

 

“Wow. More time-traveling shenanigans?”

 

“You know it.”

 

I start to smile, but it fades as I notice his smirk falter. He tilts his head down slightly and through his sunglasses I can see him close his eyes, looking deep in thought, and almost like he's in pain. When I reach out a hand and go to ask what's wrong, he stops me short and says that I'll understand everything soon.

 

–

 

This isn't what I wanted.

 

I wanted excitement in my life, but not like this.

 

My house is ruined and infested with imps, dad is missing, and everything is in chaos since the game started. This stinks. I would say that I want to go home, but now I'm stuck here, so I guess that phrase doesn't work anymore.

 

Well, I _was_ stuck, at least. Until I went through some sort of gate and ended up miles below said home. I have no idea where all this is, but it's all sort of... enchanting? It's beautiful, albeit covered in oil, but glowing a neon blue. There's not a lot of vegetation, and what does grow is sadly and strangely blue and not green, but it's all so beautiful.

 

I totally need to explore this. And so I do.

 

After running around for seemingly forever, I run across whatever little salamander creatures live here, and find Dave's bunny gift from Con Air. I look around, and nearby, there's an older salamander next to an adorable little baby one. A mother and her daughter. ... _waiting for their rugged husband and father of course!_ This is perfect. Life is perfect. As I thoroughly re-enact the glories of Con Air, I'm quickly distracted by messages filling my now PDA-combined glasses. It's the trolls again; _sign_.

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
  
CG: JOHN WHAT THE WET BAG OF HUMAN HORSE SHIT TO THE FACE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING.  
CG: OH MY LORD.  
CG: NO WONDER YOU LOSERS ALL FUCK UP THIS GAME SO BAD.  
EB: what?  
EB: i am just acting out a scene from an awesome movie and having some fun, what's wrong with that?  
CG: WHAT KIND OF CRAPPY EARTH MOVIE IS THIS.  
CG: STUPID RABBIT ASSHOLE SCREWS THE POOCH?  
EB: no, it's about these criminals on a runaway plane, and they've got to be stopped by nick cage and john cusack together as a team.  
CG: OH.  
CG: OK, THAT ACTUALLY SOUNDS PRETTY GOOD I GUESS.  
EB: it is sweet, so sweet, you would probably like it.  
CG: I'VE HEARD OF JOHN CUSACK I THINK.  
CG: WASN'T HE IN SERENDIPITY?  
CG: THAT WAS PRETTY GREAT FOR A HUMAN FLICK.  
EB: hahaha, oh man, that sucked so bad!  
CG: OK I DON'T SEE HOW WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE BECOMING FRIENDS IF YOU RECOIL FROM MY OLIVE BRANCH LIKE I'M WIGGLING A GNARLED TREE MONSTER'S DICK IN YOUR DIRECTION.  
EB: don't you have alien movies from your alien planet?  
CG: YEAH OF COURSE, WE HAVE TONS OF MOVIES AND THEY ARE INFINITELY SUPERIOR TO YOUR PRIMITIVE CINEMATIC NEANDERTHRASHINGS.  
EB: ok, so what is a really good one?  
CG: YOU'LL PROBABLY LAUGH IF I TELL YOU THE NAME OF ONE.  
EB: well, i already laughed when you said the name of one of ours, so who cares?  
CG: OK FINE.  
CG: ONE THAT IS AMAZING AND IS A CLASSIC IS...  
CG: WHEREIN NUMEROUS VIGILANTES CONFRONT PERIL; ONE OF THEM BETRAYS THE OTHERS; (BUT IT TURNS OUT TO BE PART OF THE PLAN ALL ALONG);  
CG: SEVERAL ATTRACTIVE FEMALE LEADS PROVOKE ROMANTIC TENSION; FOUR MAJOR CHARACTERS WEAR UNUSUAL HATS; ONE HOLDS PLOT-CRITICAL SECRET;  
CG: 47 ON-SCREEN EXPLOSIONS, ONE RESULTING IN DEMISE OF KEY-ADVERSARY; 6 to 20 LINES THAT COULD BE CONSTRUED AS HUMOROUS;  
EB: wait...  
EB: this is the title?  
CG: IT GOES ON.  
CG: THEY TEND TO BE MORE LITERAL AND INFORMATIVE THAN YOUR TITLES.  
EB: how do you even say them in casual conversation?  
CG: WELL WE DON'T OBVIOUSLY.  
CG: IT'S LIKE SOMEONE SAYS, HEY GUYS WHY DON'T WE GO SEE A MOVIE, AND THEN EVERYONE JUST ENDS UP THERE.  
CG: WATCHING IT.  
CG: NOT SAYING IT, THAT'S DUMB.  
CG: JOHN, TRY TO THINK OUTSIDE YOUR MINUSCULE CULTURAL BUBBLE FOR A CHANGE.  
EB: ok, i just think it's still cumbersome and completely illogical.  
CG: YEAH THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU START RUNNING OUT OF MOVIE TITLES AFTER RACKING UP THOUSANDS OF YEARS OF FILM HISTORY.  
CG: YOU KNOW I THINK YOUR CIVILIZATION JUST DIDN'T MATURE ENOUGH OR SOMETHING.  
CG: BEFORE LETTING THIS EARTH ARABIAN YOU CALL A GENIE OUT OF THE BOTTLE.  
CG: MUST EXPLAIN WHY IT SPROUTED SUCH A MISERABLE CROP OF PLAYERS.  
CG: INSTEAD OF BASICALLY GODS LIKE US.  
EB: well, i've got one of your godly players helping me now, so we can't be in such bad shape.  
CG: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.  
EB: GC gave me a map.  
EB: and showed me a shortcut.  
CG: WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING.  
CG: THIS ISN'T WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT DOING AT ALL.  
CG: HOLD ON LET ME ASK HER ABOUT THIS...  
EB: ok.  
CG: OK...  
CG: NOW SHES JUST OVER THERE GIGGLING AT ME LIKE AN IMBECILE.  
CG: WHAT ARE YOU TWO UP TO, WHY ARE YOU IN CAHOOTS NOW?  
EB: umm...  
CG: OW FUCK!!!  
CG: OK SHE JUST WALKED OVER AND PUNCHED ME.  
CG: AND SAID IT WAS FROM YOU.  
EB: uh, sorry i guess?  
CG: I TOLD HER TO STOP THESE SHENANIGANS...  
CG: BUT IT SEEMS LIKE WHATEVER SHE WAS DOING WITH YOU SHE ALREADY DID A WHILE AGO.  
CG: FROM MY PERSPECTIVE AT LEAST.  
EB: i don't know why you guys are doing this to yourselves.  
EB: all this time jackassery, it's giving me a headache.  
CG: OK IF YOU TALK TO HER AGAIN WHEN SHE TRIES HATCHING MORE PLANS GIVE HER A MESSAGE INTO THE PAST FOR ME.  
EB: ok.  
CG: TELL HER TO POLISH MY HEAVING BONE BULGE AND SET A TABLE FOR FUCKING TWO ON IT.  
CG: ITS FOR OUR CANDLE LIGHT HATE DATE.  
EB: i like how you guys have basically resorted to trolling each other, through us.  
CG: FUCK YOU.  
EB: oh, did you talk to jade yet?  
CG: JADE, WHAT WHY WOULD I WANT TO TALK TO HER?  
EB: ummm, that's what you said you wanted to do last time you talked to me, i dunno.  
CG: OH DAMMIT.  
CG: ARE YOU SURE?  
EB: yeah, you told me dude.  
EB: want me to paste the conversation?  
CG: NO NO, GOD NO, I HATE IT WHEN WE START GOING DOWN THAT ROAD.  
CG: OK THIS IS GOING TO REQUIRE FURTHER INVESTIGATION.  
CG: I'VE GOT TO GO.  
EB: ok.  
EB: but next time you talk to me, you might want to tell me to calm down first so i don't just block you.  
EB: back then i won't really want to hear from you.  
CG: OK, I'LL DO THAT.  
EB: later.  
CG: NO WAIT. I JUST REMEMBERED THE OTHER REASON WHY I PESTERED YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE.  
EB: aside from mocking my great taste in movies?  
CG: WE'RE NOT GETTING BACK INTO THAT SHIT STORM OF A CONVERSATION. I REFUSE.  
EG: haha alright, what did you want?  
CG: TO MY UNDERSTANDING THERE IS YET TO BE A GATE THAT LEADS TO OR FROM THE DOUCHBAG'S LAND. YET I HAVE SEEN HIM ON YOUR PLANET.  
EG: the douchebag?  
CG: THE ASSHAT WITH THE SUNGLASSES.  
EG: oh, you mean dave! he's here??  
CG: I SWEAR I SAW HIM. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW HE WOULD HAVE POSSIBLY GOTTEN THERE THOUGH, AND I WAS WONDERING IF YOU KNEW. APPARENTLY NOT.  
EB: i haven't the slightest, dude. i didn't even know he was here! man, i gotta meet him!  
CG: HAVE FUN WITH THE CONFUSING DOUCHEY HUMAN I GUESS.  

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling ectoBiologist [EB] \--

 

Holy shit! I finally get to meet Dave! We can be best bros in crime and solve this stuff together. This is going to be completely awesome.

 

Just as I'm about to go and search for him, though, my glasses ping again with a message from Pesterchum. This time from GC again.

 

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
  
GC: H3H3H3H3H3  
GC: JOHN STOP HUGG1NG THOS3 S4L4M4ND3RS 4ND B31NG SO STUPIDLY 4DOR4BLE  
GC: W3 4R3 ON 4 STR1CT CH3AT1NG T1M3T4BL3 H3R3  
GC: W41T WHO 4R3 YOU T4LK1NG TO NOW  
GC: 1S 1T ON3 OF US  
GC: 1S 1T M3???

 

Ugh, she's typing in the same annoying style as usual. I try to reply, but my glasses are suddenly gone – only to be replaced shortly after with Pesterchum closed.

 

“The road she's taking you down isn't for this time line. Stay off Pesterchum for a while.”

 

I want to roll my eyes, but after everything that's happened today, I find myself lunging into a hug instead. I was admittedly worried that Red wouldn't be able to find me in Sburb, but like always, he found a way.

 

He hugs back, tightly and for longer than usual, before he lets go and puts some distance between us again _(I miss the warmth)_. His jaw is set firmly in place, and the rest of his expression is mostly hidden behind his sunglasses, as usual. I hope that if they meet, Dave won't find it weird that I gave him a pair of sunglasses like Red's. I'll have to find some way to explain that if he asks.

 

That's for later, though. Now's for questions. “What do you mean it's not for this timeline?”

 

“Again, you'll understand soon. But I've worked so hard for you to be on this timeline that I can't have it doomed. Not now.”

 

I still don't understand what he means, but I assume it's more of his usual mystery, and don't ask him anymore. It'll probably end up confusing me more anyway.

 

–

 

I’m not quite sure how long all of this has been going, but it’s probably been around four years now. And at least three of them were spent stuck on that ship. How old am I, now? 17? I think so; time hasn’t meant much, but through fortunate access to technology, we’ve mostly been able to note the general passage of time. It was all we could really do while stuck on that ship for so long, pondering all of the usual life mile-stones we’d been missing – from the traditional sweet-16 to the SATs. I wonder what high school would have been like? Jade and I used to talk about those things a lot, and try to guess what we could from what we saw in movies. It was hard not to wonder what a normal life would have been like, without Sburb.

 

But right now I’m _tired_ of wondering and thinking; I’ve had literal years to do that. Now, with the ship crash landed on some strange green and red planet of ruins, we have even _more_ waiting to do, because the meteor with everyone else on it hasn’t landed yet. I’m sure in three years they must have figured out some safe way off of it by now, so I’m not really worried, but I _am_ BORED.

 

I’ve done my waiting. Three years of it. In Azkaban!

 

Or, you know, on a ship.

 

…

 

Man I miss pop culture.

 

Just as I’m reaching my wit’s end – and have at LONG LAST completed a house of cards in the shape of a Sburb logo, definitely my life’s most meta accomplishment – there’s a big flash, and everything is suddenly brought back to the present.

 

Before me rests a jumbled mound of various people, teleported in from who-knows-where. While I don’t know any of their faces, I know that these must be my friends— no, wait. I recognize that face.

 

I jump down from the stone I had been perched on, and I tackle Red as he goes to stand and try to compose himself. We’ll have none of that orderly-ness, mister!

 

“Red! Oh man, you jerk! Everything’s been awful but you haven’t showed up in _years_! Just because I was getting on fine on my own doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you, asshole!”

 

I’m met with a blank stare, and a very tense body in response to my intense hug. These types of hugs were normal with us, but I guess we hadn’t seen each other in a few years. He seems hesitant to speak at first. That’s not like him; something must be wrong. “..Uh… John?”

 

“Duh, who else would it be?” I release him from the hug, confused.

 

“Well, I don’t know, because apparently I’m not who _you_ expected – in case you forgot, we’ve never technically met. But seriously, “Red?” I’ve got a name, dude. Don’t you recognize the shades you gave me?”

 

I froze for a long, seemingly endless minute.

 

And that’s when everything started to click.

 

–

 

It’s a little while before I see Red. The actual “Red,” and not… Dave. Everything was still so jumbled in my mind, and trying to keep them separate while still coming to terms with them being the same person… it’s been a strange experience, to say the least.

 

I find myself idling in my room on the ship again, passing time and waiting to find out what I need to do next, when he appears.

 

–

 

_His fists are clenched firmly in the boy’s shirt for a long, long time. The boy who no longer had a dream self to revive him with. That doesn’t mean he hadn’t tried; to the contrary, his lips were still smeared with traces of blood at the corners._

_None of this made sense._

_After several long minutes of silent sobbing, he finally found the strength to let go of the dead boy before him. And upon doing so, the note on the table catches his eye. At first his arm wouldn’t respond when he ordered it to move out and grab it, but after a deep breath, he finds the strength to do so._

_“i’m sorry. really, i am.”_

_The sloppy blue handwriting becomes blotched by a falling tear. Then, by multiple._

_“i know that this probably makes no sense to any of you. i never talked about the demons in my life, i never wanted to put that on any of you guys. you all had so much harder lives than me, and i didn’t feel like i had any right to complain. and i know that reading this now and seeing what i’ve done, that you’re all going to feel guilty, but don’t. none of this was any of your fault. this was something that i needed to do. i cared about all of you so, so much, but i just couldn’t go on living like i was. i hope that you will be able to forgive me some day. my life has been full of nothing but constant hurt, and i knew after sburb ended it would go back to that, although likely without even my dad anymore. maybe even without any of you here by my side anymore. i couldn’t do it. so, as you can see, i took the easy way out. the things that happened in my life hurt me to such a degree that i came to believe that i was not fixable. these are things that don’t matter anymore, so please just forget about the life that i led. it’s like they say i guess: “remember me, but ah, forget my fate!” (sorry, i had a lot of time to read in three years). it’s not one worth much mention, anyway. your own lives were probably harder; i just wasn’t as strong. i was never the hero i should have been.”_

_The paper became more crumpled as it was read, shaking, angry hands struggling to not tear the hurtful writing apart._

_“please, to anyone i may have messaged, know that you weren’t too slow. i have typed up a message, but will only send it right as i am about to fade. there will have been nothing you could do, no matter how quickly after my message you could have arrived. since i was god teir, i knew that i couldn’t just die. so i got jade to let me into my old planet to talk with my denizen (i’m sorry, jade). it was hard, but in the end i was able to convince him that i was giving up my immortality hesitantly in order to gain something useful for everyone, instead of for some self-serving purpose. my final wish was that you all would go on to defeat lord english and jack noir and bec noir and everyone else. typheus granted his powers as best he could, and said he would be able to work with other denizens in order to delay arrivals of enemies so that they could be faced one group at a time. that’s great, isn’t it? with all of you guys together, going at each group one at a time should be a sweeping victory. you’ll all live and be happy in the new world, together._

_i hope that you will all live long, wonderful lives. i loved you all, but i was not meant for this place._

_john egbert.”_

_The paper was crumpled violently, then left to tumble out of the hands that held it and onto the floor. The computer still had Pesterchum open; the last message was sent just before 7:52pm._

_That was the moment that an angel left this world._

_–_

 

For a strong minute, we both do nothing but stare. By now, I know. I know that he knows that I know, so I silently plead for him to explain.

 

And after the longest moment, he sits down on the ground in front of me, and he does.

 

“I was never able to tell you.” He starts, lowering his head to face the ground. “It would have messed up everything I was trying to do.”

 

“And what exactly _were_ you trying to do?”

 

He lets out a soft sigh, and continues. “The Dave you know… he’s the me from this timeline. He’s your Dave. Me, I’m a different John’s Dave, from a different timeline.”

 

“But why are you here, then?” I didn’t understand; this Dave had become such an integral part of my life, but he had just appeared, with no explanation. Never giving a name or a reason. My Dave had told me about all the complications with various timelines and other selves… but one of them traveling back before Sburb even started? Why?

 

What happens next I had never expected: slowly, he slips off his sunglasses, then turns to look up at me. The brilliant red irises are brimmed with tears.

 

“To save you.”

 

I swallow. His eyes are beautiful. I feel a pang in my chest, an emotion I can’t quite grasp the name of.

 

“Tell me, John…” Dave shifts his glance to the computer, the one on the desk next to me. I follow his gaze – its clock reads 7:43 in the evening. “Summarize your life for me. …Please.”

 

“Why? You were there for most of it, you know how it went.”

 

“No, not what happened. What it meant to you. What you feel about it.”

 

I hesitate for a moment. It seemed like such a strange question, but one I had thought about on occasion. “I… I suppose even though some shitty things happened, I don’t regret any of it. I’ve had a good life… in large part due to you.”

 

He closed his eyes, and the tears finally started to fall. I briefly thought about reaching out to him – to wipe away the tears like he had always done for me – but I thought better of it. I still didn’t really understand quite what was happening.

 

“I’m so glad...” he wipes at his eyes, but chokes out an audible sob as he does so. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

 

Having problems finding what to say, I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to find the words. But he beats me to it. “John… in my timeline, you killed yourself.

 

“You lived your life of pain, and never told any of us what you were facing. Your heart was full of so much pain, yet you never let any of it show. You always wore a fake smile and joked around, and you actually fooled us.” He sniffled for a moment, took a deep breath and looked at the clock, then continued. “—And all I wanted from the moment I found you, lifeless in the chair you are in now, was to reverse all of that pain. No, not reverse… not really. Just ease it. Let you know what the world had to offer, what people cared about you and what you could do for yourself. How you could really live, just like you were always meant to.”

 

Carefully, Dave slipped his sunglasses into his pocket, then stood. His eyes were full of so much emotion, yet which emotions I could not quite tell. His face was puffy from crying, but the tears had finally stopped. I had never seen his face entirely before; I didn’t realize how expressive it could be.

 

“Depression is a horrible thing. It’s like your shadow, but unlike with happy people, it doesn’t just follow you; it controls you instead of you controlling it. It hides the good of life in its darkness, and even though you may want to improve with all of your heart, may want to be happy so bad that it eats you alive, sometimes you never truly figure out how. So I helped. In my timeline, your depression was so deep when you died that I don’t think you could ever have understood at that moment how much you meant to our world. To your friends… to me.”

 

“Dave…” I stood up, my heart clenching as I reached out to pull him into a hug. He returned it tightly.

 

“..Just like you had talked to your denizen in order to be able to die, I went to talk to mine in order to undo it. And I made a deal.” He glanced over at the computer again. 7:50pm. “If I could go back and alter your timeline, to make a new alpha-timeline, that would be my last wish.”

 

“What do you mean? You can’t just change a timeline: that creates holes and shit. My Dave has lectured me on that enough.”

 

He shook his head. “That was part of the deal. Holes don’t happen if there isn’t an original timeline to effect. By changing the alpha-timeline, mine would then cease to exist. And so would I.”

 

My eyes shot open. “Wait, no—”

 

I couldn’t finish my protest. My words were cut off by two rough lips pressed hard against mine, and a hand gently threading into my hair. The tears on his cheeks brushed against my own face, and with them I could feel the most poignant sadness I have ever felt from another human being. And as he pulled his face away and I saw that he had started to become translucent, started to fade from this life, the same pain clenched in my heart. His hand caressed my cheek with such tenderness that I couldn’t even process it.

 

“I’m sorry, I needed to do that at least once.” He leans in again, forehead bumping against mine, while I stand in shock. “I love you, John. Across every timeline, I have always loved you, and always will. So I’m happy that I could use my life to save yours. Live life for the both of us.”

 

And with that, what remained of his body phased out of existence. Forever.

 

–

–

 

Everything seemed to pass in a blur of blood, metal and light, and the next thing I know it’s raining. Raining a fountain of grist.

 

And everyone is cheering.

 

We’re alive, we’ve won.

 

But for some reason, I can’t stop the tears that are falling down my face.

 

I think back to the last moments that Red was here with me, and I cry. Without him, I would never have even made it to this moment; I would have lost the battle with myself before I even had to face the battle with Lord English.

 

“Hey, John, what’s wrong? We won.”

 

My head whips around, eyes landing on Dave – obviously worn, but alive and well.

 

It’s in that moment that I realize something: Red _was_ Dave. Red was the same Dave that I had always known, just given different circumstances. Dave is just the Red who wasn’t given a doomed timeline, and everything that Red was, Dave is now.

 

We may not share the same memories that we had when he was Red, but he is still the same person who cared enough to give his life for mine. The same person as he was when he made that decision in Red’s timeline. The same person who traveled a lifetime with knowledge that the end would result in him never existing, just to make sure that a world without me would never exist.

 

And even if he wasn’t given a chance to show that in this timeline, the knowledge that that’s a point he would go to, that there are people who could care about me to that degree… it fills me with life. If nothing else, living for people like him gives me purpose. Even though by now, I think I’ve finally learned how to live for myself, too.

 

I stand without answering him, and take a step toward him. He seems confused, especially when I reach out and gently start to remove his sunglasses, but he doesn’t stop me.

 

“..John?”

 

The glasses are now held loosely in my hand, and my arms are draped over his shoulders to hang behind his back. I see him swallow hard, face heating up slightly, and it makes me smile.

 

“You might never know just how much you’ve meant to me, Dave, but tell me: how much do I mean to you? Because I think I know.”

 

My name is John Egbert, and although it was 17 years ago that I was given life, it is only today that I finally learned how to live.

**Author's Note:**

> Never code a Pesterlog, kids.
> 
> Also, I occasionally listened to the song Photograph by Ed Sheeran while I wrote this; fits the mood, I think.


End file.
